


Ars Erotico - Chapter 2

by Savageseraph



Series: Ars Erotico [2]
Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Art, Drawing, Exhibitionism, F/M, Flirting, Letters, M/M, Masturbation, Model, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29782026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Summary: Benedict shouldn’t have let his assignation happen, shouldn’t be letting it creep into his thoughts at inopportune times.  He definitely shouldn’t be lingering on it when he pleasures himself.  But it has happened, and he doesn’t have the will or inclination to banish it from his mind.Quick Note:  I switched Ars Erotico to a series (rather than a work with chapters) so I could tag each bit more precisely.   This second chapter is still in that first section as well, since I wasn't sure if deleting it entirely would cause issues.  From now on, I'll use this format and no more duplicates.  ^_^
Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Genevieve Delacroix, Benedict Bridgerton/Henry Granville
Series: Ars Erotico [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188986
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Ars Erotico - Chapter 2

Days pass before the next gathering at Granville’s, and Benedict spends them trying not to think about his last night in the studio. Sometimes, when he is riding with Anthony or trading barbs with Eloise or losing himself in Genevieve’s heat, he even succeeds. But at night, when he’s alone in his room, when he takes himself in hand, his thoughts fix on the feeling of Granville’s mouth around his balls, the clenching tightness of Granville’s throat, the maddening tease of that one finger barely fucking into him.

Benedict shouldn’t have let it happen, shouldn’t be letting it creep into his thoughts at inopportune times. He definitely shouldn’t be lingering on it when he pleasures himself. But it has happened, and he doesn’t have the will or inclination to banish it from his mind. Not when it feels so fucking good.

####

When he finally finds himself back at the Granville house, Benedict feels disappointed when a servant answers the door, lets him in, and takes his coat. There is already a crowd gathered, and Benedict grabs a glass of wine as he winds his way through the rooms and hallways. He tells himself he’s only making the rounds, not seeking out his host—definitely not that--but denial becomes impossible as his mood sours when each new space doesn’t reveal the presence of either Granville. He finishes his wine and replaces it with another as he wanders out of the house, through the enclosed courtyard, and into the studio.

As expected, the studio hums with conversation and creativity, and Benedict greets some of the other artists he has become acquainted with. Granville isn’t here either, so Benedict uncovers his easel and sits. Tonight, the divan is draped in a length of gold brocade, which complements the creamy skin and thick fall of golden curls of the model reclining on it. She has a pretty pout, and her sea-green eyes sparkle with amusement. The pillow in front of her stomach and thighs makes what she is hiding a constant tease and gives Benedict cause to curse the sudden tightness of his trousers. When the model catches him looking her over, she gives him a saucy wink, and he smiles in response. He raises his glass to her, takes a swallow, then puts it down and picks up a piece of charcoal to work. 

While he draws, Benedict finds himself utterly bewitched by the model’s lips, parted as if she’s frozen in that moment just before being kissed. The light gleams off her magnificent hair, and Benedict wonders if she can feel his heavy gaze moving over her lush curves and rosy nipples. He wonders if she knows that he’d love to tug that pillow away and bury his face between her thighs. A blush warms his cheeks just as arms wrap around his waist, and Benedict jerks, barely preventing an unforgiveable slash of black across his drawing.

“Did I frighten you?”

 _Genevieve._ Benedict relaxes, puts down his charcoal, and leans back into the modiste’s embrace. “Halfway to my grave.”

Her laughter tickles against his neck. “Well, at least it was only halfway. It would be tragic had you made it all the way there.” One delicate hand slides lower to cover him, and she hums softly when she feels his arousal. “Tragic indeed. Come with me.” 

“ _Genevieve._ ” Benedict swallows as she nuzzles at the side of his neck. “I’m…” His body tightens when her palm presses more firmly against him. “I’m working.” Even to his own ears, that protest sounds weak.

“Tsk. I believe you meant to say, ‘I need you.’ Isn’t that right?” Her lips brush his ear when she murmurs “need.” He groans and is rewarded with light, teasing flicks of her tongue. She kisses in front of his ear, then says, “I want your mouth on me.”

Benedict gasps at the sudden spike of desire her words conjure in him. He stands abruptly and tosses a sheet over his easel as he lets her pull him out of the studio and through the house to a quiet hallway off one of the main rooms. There are people in that room, and he knows he and Genevieve aren’t so cloaked by shadows that they can’t be seen. However, Anthony never let that stop him, and Benedict now knows why. The need pulsing through him is stronger than any feeble objection decorum can voice.

Because his back is to the room, Benedict doesn’t know if anyone watches him drop to his knees, watches Genevieve pull up her skirts and let them fall over him, watches as she drapes a thigh over his shoulder. He closes his eyes, nuzzling and nibbling at her thighs, at her stomach. When she makes little snarls at his teasing, Benedict grins. If he wasn’t buried in yards of taffeta, Genevieve would have grabbed him by the hair and tugged him where she wanted, but tonight, he gets to make her squirm and plead for what she wants. He has no doubt she will make him pay for that some other night. 

It isn’t until Benedict hears his name, soft and breathy, on her lips that he nuzzles her damp curls, then spreads her so he can lick into her. He can feel her body tense and her back arch. Her palms run over his head. Since she is an insistent and demanding lover, Benedict takes his time licking and sucking, nibbling and teasing. He closes his eyes as he feels Genevieve’s fingers clawing at the fabric over his head. Her hips rock against him impatiently. When he slides two fingers into her, she gasps as her body tightens and tightens and tightens around them. His cock aches, and he wants to feel her heat clenching around it. He teases her to the edge and over twice more before he slips out from under her skirts.

“You are a wicked, wicked man.” Sweaty curls cling to her flushed cheeks most becomingly. 

Benedict tugs her against his body, claims her mouth in deep, possessive kiss. As their tongues rub and lick, he takes her hand, draws it back to his trousers, and rubs against her palm. They’re both breathing hard by the time he rests his forehead against hers. “I am a very, very hard man.”

Genevieve laughs, low and dark, as her fingers stroke him through his clothes. “And what should I do about that?”

“Let me under your skirts.” One of her brows arches at the edge of command in his tone. Benedict swallows and manages a softer, “ _Please._ ”

“How could I refuse such a polite request, hmmm?” Genevieve brushes her lips against his, then murmurs, “After all, it isn’t just your mouth I adore.”

Heedless of the mess he is making of her hair, Benedict tangles his fingers in her dark curls, tugging her closer for a kiss before moving behind her. He pulls up her skirts, bunching the fabric at the small of her back, and takes a moment to enjoy her backside and lacey stockings, both of which appeal to him aesthetically and carnally, before he undoes his trousers and frees his cock.

Almost as if she can sense his thoughts, Genevieve chuckles. “Are you going to draw me or fuck me?”

“Sadly,” Benedict says, patting her shapely arse, “we’ve only time for fucking.”

“Ah.” She exhales a heavy sigh. “I suppose I shall manage to contain my disappointment." 

“I don’t plan on leaving you disappointed, darling.” Benedict wraps an arm around her waist and leans forward, forcing her to do the same. “In fact, I wager you will find yourself quite satisfied by my efforts.” He slips a foot between hers to nudges them and her legs apart. 

“Well, then, I—”

The rest of her words are cut off as he thrusts deeply into her. And, oh, she feels like sin itself. _Sweet and warm and tight._ His cock jerks, and his arm tightens around her waist as he struggles for control like some green boy. Maybe Genevieve senses how close he is as he trembles against her because she doesn’t encourage, doesn’t move, doesn’t tighten or tease. She waits, and when he finally starts to move, fucking her slowly, _decadently_ , she purrs and tightens around him.

“You are a wonder,” Benedict murmurs in her ear, and she laughs softly.

“I know.”

He nuzzles her cheek, into her hair, and that’s when he glances toward the room and sees Granville there. _Watching._ Their gazes lock, and Benedict’s thrusts slow. 

Genevieve growls softly, digs her nails into his arm. He kisses her temple, and without breaking Henry’s gaze, he pulls her upright. His hands slide up her body to cup her breasts. Granville’s brows raise; a smile tugs at his lips. Her back arches when Benedict teases her nipples through her gown, and when he gives them a gentle pinch, she moans prettily and tightens around him. She feels so good that he does it again, and she raises her arms so she can lace her fingers together behind his neck. When she tilts her head to the side, he licks at the pulsebeat hammering just under her skin and nuzzles into her intoxicating citrus and spice scent.

Across the room, Granville sits. One hand rests on his lap, and Benedict’s attention focuses there. He wonders if Granville is touching himself while he watches. There’s a stiffness, a strain, in Granville’s posture that makes Benedict certain he must be. He thrusts harder into Genevieve, drowning in the pleasure of her body and the memory of how Granville looks when he’s fucking into his own hand. When that hand moves, Benedict follows it and watches Granville dip a finger into a glass of wine. The dark liquid clings to his skin, and Granville waits until their gazes lock before he raises the finger to his mouth, slips it inside, and tongues it clean. 

Benedict shudders. That mouth. That _fucking_ mouth has been at the core of his filthiest dreams for days. He slides a hand under Genevieve’s skirts and between her thighs so that he can rub her in time with his increasingly urgent thrusts. Granville pulls his finger partly out of his mouth, then slides it back in. Benedict can see Granville’s cheeks hollow as he sucks, and the flare of lust he feels at that is so incandescent it’s almost painful. It’s just then that Genevieve gasps. Her body arches, and he’s gripped by the most delicious clenching heat he can imagine. Benedict he lets that, lets her, pull him over the edge too. 

Except for ragged breathing, they’re both quiet as they ride out their passion, leaning against each other for support. Genevieve sighs as Benedict nuzzles her neck and gives him a gentle shove when he reaches a spot that tickles. He holds her tight, making her squirm against him, before releasing her. She kisses his forehead, then his eyelids, then his lips.

“You are a man of your word, Benedict.” She leans in to kiss him but gently nips his lip instead. “I find myself quite satisfied.” When he traces her cheekbone and jaw, she tilts her cheek into his palm and kisses it. 

“It has been my pleasure.”

Her hair is a lost cause, but Genevieve does her best to adjust her clothes. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” She takes several steps away from him, pauses, then glances back over her shoulder. “With whatever strength you have left.” She winks, then melts back into the room.

Benedict laughs softly. _Sweet, wicked Genevieve._ He closes his eyes, wets his lips, and tells himself he’s taking a moment to catch his breath before rejoining the party. Why else would he be lingering in a dimly lit, quiet hallway? It’s certainly not because he expects someone else to join him, not because he hopes to catch the golden scent of amber and sandalwood, not because he craves a touch he has been waiting days to feel. Which is fortunate, since none of those things occur. He puts his clothing to rights, as much as he’s able, before he turns his attention toward the room. Granville is nowhere to be seen.

####

It’s hours later, after a second turn in the studio, when Benedict finally asks one of the servants for his coat. He waits in the foyer, paces impatiently. He’s annoyed with Granville for avoiding him—for he’s certain that’s what his host was doing—and annoyed with himself for letting that cloud an otherwise pleasant evening. Underneath it all, he can’t escape the feeling he has been a fool, and that leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

“Bridgerton.” Benedict starts as the source of his annoyance enters the foyer with the coat he has been waiting for. “I trust you had a good evening.”

Benedict nods. “It was lovely.” Were he less annoyed, he’d be embarrassed by the curtness of his response.

“It certainly seemed to be.” Granville’s lips curve in a sinful smile. “I believe you found it quite stimulating if I’m not mistaken.” He holds up Benedict’s coat for him.

Benedict flushes as he shoves his arms into the sleeves and tugs the coat around himself like warm, woolen armor. He’s thankful for the heavy fabric, thankful for the cover it gives him.

“Well then, I wish you a good evening, Bridgerton, and hope to have the pleasure of your company again soon.” Granville places extra emphasis on “pleasure,” and Benedict nods, because that word, the way it rubs against him, has tightened his throat and his body. “Excellent.” Granville claps him on the shoulder, leans in, and murmurs, “I’d check your pockets before you give your coat to the servants.” With that, he is gone.

Benedict waits until he’s blocks away from the Granville house before he slips his hands into his pockets. He feels folded paper in one, curls his hand loosely around it, and pulls it out. There is no seal, no writing at all on the outside. Even though he is sorely tempted to open and read it, he tucks it away in his waistcoat. Something tells him to wait until he’s somewhere private, and because he’s not a patient man, he quickens his steps toward Grosvenor Square. 

When he gets home, he thanks god Anthony isn’t waiting to press him into sharing a snifter of brandy or Eloise hasn’t planned an ambush that will only end after he’s too tired to keep up the debate she has chosen for the day. His covers are already turned down, and he slides the note under one of the pillows before he prepares for bed. It’s not until he’s naked under the covers that he retrieves the note, opens it, and starts reading.

_In case you were unaware how arousing I found you this evening I thought it important to let you know. You are so tempting. **So very tempting.** While I watched you, I imagined undoing my trousers and seeing to myself where I sat. Instead, I went somewhere more private so I could stretch out on your finely tailored coat and handle matters. I hope you’ll remember that every time you wear it._

_When you come, you look almost astonished. Did you know that? It’s quite endearing._

_If you’ve no plans this coming Thursday, I would be delighted to have you over for a private dinner._

Benedict’s body warms as he reads the letter through once. By the time he finishes it a second time, he is achingly hard. He clutches the letter in one hand and strokes himself roughly, almost desperately, with the other. Bits of the note swirl through him in Granville’s velvety voice: _arousing, tempting, delighted. Private._ Benedict groans as he thrusts into his hand. _Handle matters. Come._ His thrusts get uneven.

 _Come._ His hips jerk once, twice, and then he spills on his stomach and chest.


End file.
